


Omnipotent

by planetofthewillow



Series: Omnipotent [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Creepy, Horror, Other, Psychological Horror
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-12
Updated: 2013-11-15
Packaged: 2018-01-01 06:08:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1041264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/planetofthewillow/pseuds/planetofthewillow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things turn sour quickly at a dinner party in a house Gilbert and Ludwig had inherited.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Prologue

The invitation came late one summer's day, past the mailman's usual work hours. Each guest heard a knock on their door and opened it to find not a trace of the deliverer. Instead, lying upon the ground was a letter. Formally printed words tucked into an envelope, addressed from Gilbert Beilschmidt, invited them to a dinner party set to take place the following Saturday night, in a forested area in the center of Eastern Europe. Those nearby were given train tickets and those living on the opposite side of the globe airplane tickets. Alfred and Matthew, who were staying in the same house for the time being, turning to glance at one another.

Alfred grinned his array of pearly teeth and said; "Why not? Everyone else will be there."

Matthew felt a shiver creep down his spine. If anything, they could find Ludwig's house. Though he imagined entering the house and being attacked and stolen away in the dead of the night, pulled into a musty attic and tortured. "I don't know, Al, are you sure it's going to be safe?"

Alfred paused, taking it into account. "Nah, probably not."

Matthew didn't want to go; but he also didn't want to leave Alfred alone. "Fine, but at the first sign of trouble I'm running out."

"Fine, where will you go?" Alfred sneered.

Matthew chose not to respond.

"Matt, it's from Gil, do you really think he'd hurt us?"

"Well, I suppose not." Matthew sighed, leaving to his room to pack. The plane left the next afternoon and he didn't want to spend all the next day digging through his clothing and yelling at Alfred to get ready.

His shared room with Alfred, lost in the endless apartments of New York, was cramped. The carpet must have been put in years ago and none of the many residents had decided to change it.

Alfred wandered in, cracking open a can of pop and sipping it, watching Matthew crawl under the bed for his suitcase.

"Come on, it will be fun," he urged.

"Get your suit ready," Matthew grumbled, tired of all and any games.

Across a long stretch of water, Arthur peered at the letter, trying to decipher the letters. Whoever had delivered it carelessly tossed it on the ground, unheeding of the pouring rain. The mulch of a paper caused each letter to cry out its ink. Arthur pushed his soaked hair out of his eyes and managed, somehow, to figure out what the letter wanted to say. He suspected some form of tomfoolery from Gilbert, some master prank to scare him, but Ludwig's neat signature at the bottom brought a sense of comfort.

The next night, Alfred and Matthew hopped off of a taxi, each carrying a backpack, and trekked through a mile of forestry towards the mansion. The setting sun threw a veil of orange over the tall trees. A cold wind picked up and rustled the leaves, overall calming Alfred and Matthew. It reminded them of countless camping trips they had taken. However, the heavens bent in, heavy with grey clouds; unlike the forget-me-not dome of mountain sky Alfred was used to.

Matthew stopped at a dirt road, sloping into the land and leading towards the mansion. The windows, like eyes of Greek statues, hardly emitted the light from indoors. The walls were chipped and dark stains covered the base. The door was open, sounds of bustling footsteps coming from within. Before the house was a small garden, consisting of spidery trees and chalk-white grasses, as though death had passed through and drained all life from it. A statue of an angel with her arms out and her face towards the sky greeted them. Matthew shivered at the sight. Alfred beamed.

"This is awesome! Super creepy, double points for atmosphere."

"Alfred…" Matthew mumbled and Alfred shot him a murderous glance.

"All you've been doing is nagging me the entire way. Would you give it a rest?" He barked.

Matthew shrunk back into himself. He had never seen Alfred mad at him. "Al…?"

Alfred shook his head, rubbing his temple, "God, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to yell. I guess I'm tired from all the travel." He flicked back a strand of golden hair and gave Matthew an apologetic look.

"It's fine, don't do it again." Matthew only felt more so disturbed.

"Oh you're here!" A familiar, raspy Germany voice called from the door. Gilbert's smirking face appeared through the doorway, "Sorry for the outward appearance, we couldn't find another place. Come in," He pulled the door back and stepped aside.

Matthew trailed closely behind Alfred, who fist-bumped Gilbert as a greeting. "Hey, is this a formal occasion?"

"No," Ludwig appeared from behind the kitchen counter and explained in a terse manner, "No, you can wear what you want. Gilbert, show them to their guest room."

Gilbert rolled his eyes, annoyed at having been ordered around. "Come on," he waved at them to follow.

Their guest room was on an upper floor, surrounded by rows of other rooms. "It's a nice place," Matthew noted, peering around the halls. The carpet curled at the end of a hallway. A crack trailed down from behind a picture, like a tail. The picture had nothing on its face, just a blank sheet of paper. Matthew decided it had been washed out by the unrelenting touch of time.

"This is great!" Alfred exclaimed, dropping his bag onto one of two beds. The room smelled of sunflower-scented detergent. The bed spreads were of a Victorian age, thousands of flowers stitched on the front. Matthew claimed the other bed and looked at himself in the mirror, fixing his mousy hair. The mirror was not cracked, as Matthew had first expected, but rather clean and almost new.

"How did you get a hold of this house, Gilbert?" Matthew asked softly.

Gilbert curled his lip. His top teeth were yellowed and bent at off angles. "Um, we inherited it and never used it. So today, 'cause of some banking problems and all, we decided to clean it up and use it to invite you all over. Ludwig's cooking something…" He looked over his shoulder down the hallway.

The scent of grilled meat and cabbage wafted towards them.

"Smells great," Alfred examined the drawers, finding dusty books inside.

"Yeah, awesome little brother," Gilbert said proudly. The door bell sounded. He left without excusing himself.

After washing the scent of travel off of them, the brothers headed downstairs. Alfred skipped every two steps. Matthew lingered at the top of the staircase, feeling suddenly very dizzy. He clutched the top of the steps, black spots emerging in front of his eyes. "Al…" he called weakly.

Alfred stopped and turned. "You okay?"

"N-No…" Matthew's knees buckled.

"You didn't eat, did you?" Alfred called in panic. He rushed into the kitchen, smiling politely. "Hey, Ludwig, do you have anything sugary? Matthew needs it."

Ludwig raised his eyebrows and calmly searched through the fridge, finding a small chocolate bar. He handed it over and Alfred snatched it away, passing Feliciano and Romano at the door. He dropped to his knees, giving it to Matthew. Matthew had been experiencing sudden dizzy spells among other ailments lately. He had taken him to the doctor but he only looked on sadly and asked for blood samples, sending them in to search up the cause of the problem. He still hadn't called back to tell them the problem.

Feliciano greeted Ludwig and Gilbert with friendly kisses to their cheeks. He spoke rapidly, explaining the honor of being invited. Lovino grunted his hello, furrowing his eyebrows. Gilbert led them to their appropriate room.

"Why do we all need to a share a fucking room?" Lovino exasperated.

"Because we don't have enough for everyone to be alone. Also you won't want to be alone in this house." Gilbert responded, adding an air of mystery that widened Lovino's eyes.

"You're saying there's a damn ghost?"

"No," Gilbert exited the room, "I don't think so at least." He sniggered his way down, greeting Arthur, Elizaveta, Yao, and Kiku at the door.

Yao and Kiku shared a room and Arthur blushed vividly, refusing to share the room with Elizaveta, who grew hot-headed at the notion.

"Oh, because I'm a woman? You can't stand your bodily needs for one night?" She snapped, shouldering her fat red purse.

"No, I just…" Arthur was stumped. He allowed her the bed nearer to the window and quietly readied himself, looking away from Elizaveta.

Antonio, Francis, and Ivan were last to arrive. Francis and Antonio entered their room, talking comfortably.

"I haven't seen you in ages, Francis! Where have you been?"Antonio asked, looking around the room.

"I've been in Normandy and Lyon. I've wanted to remain out of Paris for a while. The bustle of the city can get on my nerves. And you?"

"I've been living in Madrid… This house is amazing! It would be something out of a mystery novel set in Barcelona. All we need is the unfaithful wife and the ghost lingering through the corners."

Francis took that in and shrugged, "It would be exiting, but I think certain people would wet themselves out of fear." He thought back to the Italian brothers and imagined them clinging to each other, Feliciano burbling nonsense and Lovino cursing the ghost with every word he knew in every language.

"Yes, that is true," Antonio laughed.

Gilbert looked at Ivan formally, "I'm sorry but you have a room to yourself."

"Is there a balcony?" Ivan asked in monotone, looking down at Gilbert indifferently.

"Yes," Gilbert responded, leaving him alone.

Ivan shut the door behind him and opened a sliding glass door, walking out to the balcony. An inch of the sun remained visible beyond the horizon. Ivan lit a cigarette and stuck it in his lips, the bluish smoke tendrils curling around his cheeks. He pulled out his phone and searched for a signal, but found none. He didn't particularly want to come, but he didn't despise anyone there. He had other things to do, was all. Also, he was certain nobody wanted him there in the first place. He browsed through his already read emails listlessly.

In the room beside him, he could hear Kiku murmur to Yao, but not exactly what about.

Kiku pulled out a novel and placed it on his bedside.

"Ah! Kiku, how can you bring a book when we will most likely stay up the whole night?" Yao retorted, "That is not respectful to the hosts!"

"I like to read before I sleep. Do you think I would take this book to the table and read it while we eat?" Kiku said coldly.

Yao sighed and turned away, entering the small bathroom and splashing water across his face.

A bell rung in each room, startling Matthew and Alfred, but calling the other's attention. They all roamed to the stairs, marching down as Gilbert waved them all to dinner.


	2. Half Voice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The house begins to bring out the worst in people.

“Veh, this is wonderful, Ludwig!” Feliciano grinned, piling on thinly sliced carrots onto his plate. The dining hall stretched into two rooms, but only half the table provided was filled. The other side of the seemingly never-ending table was dusty and covered with a thin sheet.   
Francis visibly shivered.   
“Cold? I think we can get the heating up,” Ludwig suggested, noticing Francis rub his arms.   
“No, that won’t be necessary, it was only a little bit of vertigo,” He smiled sheepishly, glancing at the arced ceiling. Drawings of woman and men in togas, carrying devilishly hideous children spiraled across the ceiling. At one point, near the top, the painting stretched on a man’s head, giving him an oddly distorted head that would otherwise have been funny, but only gave Francis a twisted feeling in his gut.   
Gilbert followed his eyes up and chuckled, “What a horribly built house.”  
“Like somebody wanted to build a really fancy place with all these cool things, but ended up making a monster,” Alfred burst into laughter.   
Tap… Tap… Tap…  
Feliciano yelped and looked towards the window, everyone else turned. They expected to see a murderer with half a face and a chainsaw coming out of a severed hand, tapping away at the window and smirking with such total, encompassing evil they died on the spot.  
Instead, they found dark drops of rain hurtling down against the window and exploding upon touching the glass, shattering into a million tinier droplets. A rainstorm had started. Although no one admitted to being terrified out of their wits, they sighed and chuckled uneasily.   
“In this storm the poor electricity will go out, let’s go the living room,” Ludwig said, pushing his seat back and standing. A maid sitting in the shadows of the room stepped forward at his call and began cleaning the table. Her curled hair spilled over her shoulders and her mouth was sagging in a permanent frown. Her dress puffed out as they did in the Victorian ages: the house appeared to be trapped in that time and refusing to leave, going so far as to flicker the lights. Her stockings climbed up her curved legs and stopped at her pale thighs, exposed under the short dress. She collected the plates and set them in a sink, throwing out remains of foods and washing everything dolefully.   
Once gathered around the living room on plush pillows—the sofas were seeping dust and were soft as a slab of rock—they decided to talk in low voices. They discussed current global topics and their current situations.   
The rain continued to pummel harder and harder into the windows. The electricity eventually gave out and Ludwig twisted towards the kitchen, “Veronica!”   
The maid scurried out to the kitchen, striking a match and in her hurry burning her finger. She dropped the flame and stamped it out quickly into the moist floorboards.   
“Stupid slut can’t do a thing,” Ludwig shook his head.   
Feliciano wanted to slap him.   
“What, do you want us to sit in the dark?” Ludwig barked.   
“N-no sir,” she squeaked in a tiny half-voice, rushing to light another match and lighting each candle.   
“What did I say about talking to me?” Ludwig said in an oily voice.  
Feliciano swallowed hard and reached for where he presumed Ludwig to be. An orb of light pierced the darkness and Feliciano pinched Ludwig’s knee.   
Ludwig looked at him, his lips slightly parted. Behind him, Veronica finished lighting the final few candles.  
“How dare you be so mean to a young lady?” Feliciano gasped, feeling his face heat up, “She’s only a little girl, what has she done you wrong?”  
Ludwig looked down, “I’m sorry.” He muttered, “I didn’t mean to sound mean. The work this house has me doing must be making me irrationally mad.”  
“Don’t say sorry to me, say sorry to Miss Veronica.” Feliciano said.  
Veronica turned to him, standing straight and tucking the matches into her pocket, her brown eyes unblinking.   
“I’m sorry,” Ludwig grumbled to her, avoiding looking at her.  
“To her face,” Elizaveta intervened.   
Ludwig looked at her and suddenly felt a wave of violence and anger crashing in him, “I’m sorry,” He said through gritted teeth, trying to pull his fist back from crushing her skull in.   
“Good,” Elizaveta smiled.  
The moment Ludwig tore his eyes away, cool flushed back through him and he felt no need to hurt even a pretty little butterfly.   
Veronica smiled thankfully at Elizaveta, knowing full well how Ludwig felt towards her. It only saddened her. She turned away and slunk into the kitchen, cleaning up as quietly as she could under the pale light of an oil lamp.   
“Let’s play a game!” Feliciano suggested, trying to break the tension forming around them.   
“What kind of game?” Antonio smiled, although he felt too old for games.   
“Truth or dare,” Alfred said.  
“That’s a stupid teenager’s game,” Gilbert jeered.   
“I guess…”  
“We could tell scary stories,” Kiku said.  
“How cliché of you,” Alfred looked at him, “Next thing you know the maid will cook us up for dinner.”   
“Exactly! What’s wrong with a little bit of fun?” Yao perked up.  
“No,” Kiku shifted so he sat not on his feet but firmly on his rump, his legs spread out before him. “How about just stories? Story telling is very healthy for you.”   
“Sounds nice,” Matthew agreed quietly, feeling queasy. His stomach threatened to push out all its contents. He tugged his jacket tighter about him.  
“You go first, Antonio,” Ludwig said.   
“Oh? Me?” Antonio licked his lips, raising his eyes towards the ceiling and searching through his mind for a good story to tell, “Does it have to be scary or spooky?”   
“No, not necessarily,” Kiku said. The rain and wind picked up, pooling into the drains. Thunder growled, thin cracks of white flashing in the sky before vanishing, its light flooded the room. Their faces illuminated briefly at odd angles, giving them ghastly expressions of morbid delight.  
“Hm… Oh! Yes, I know a good story to tell,” Antonio leaned forward, nodding his head ever so slightly as he spoke, gesticulations added in, “Death—no, not death like being murdered in a dark alleyway or being shot in the brain, or even a peaceful death. No, the death of an unnamed girl is what I’m talking about.”  
“I thought we agreed on no horror stories,” Feliciano trembled.  
“Shh,” Alfred shoved a finger towards him.  
Antonio continued, “Oh it isn’t a horror story, it’s just something to think about. She died in a car accident.” He fell silent.   
“And…?” Gilbert looked towards.   
“That’s it. A sad way to go,” Antonio looked away, torment clouding his features.  
The floorboards above them groaned.   
Feliciano pulled his knees to his chest, “This makes me scared. I don’t like it,” He muttered.  
“It’s just the rain, idiot.” Lovino lightly smacked his brother’s shoulder.   
After a while, Alfred said, “This is kind of cool, huh? We’re in an isolated place, in a creepy house, in a forest, with rain falling down, it’s a perfect set up.”   
“For a cheap horror movie,” Kiku intoned.   
“Stop it, I don’t want to die,” Feliciano bit his thumb nail, looking around. He latched eye contact with his reflection in the mirror behind Alfred and screamed.  
Alfred jumped and looked behind him, seeing the mirror.   
“Would you relax?” Yao groaned. “Hey, where’s Ivan?”   
“He went out to smoke,” Alfred explained.  
“In the rain?” Yao deadpanned.   
“Oh so now he’s the killer?” Matthew said.  
“This is fun!” Alfred rose to his feet and left upstairs, “Yo, Ivan? You’ve been up here for a wh----OOOHHHH MY GOD.” He yelled, clutching his heart which threatened to beat out of his chest.   
Ivan rolled his eyes, his silver hair dripping water. He stood in the doorway, walking out at an opportune moment to scare Alfred. “I heard you were telling ghost stories down there, I was about to come down.” He thumped Alfred’s back, trying to shake out the fright.   
Alfred grinned shakily, “Yeah, where were you?” he started heading towards the stairs.  
“Smoking and all, then the rain starting showering down so I sat down on my bed to rest for a little while,” Ivan followed him down the hallway. The rain overrode Alfred’s voice. “Come again?” Ivan leaned closer.  
“That’s great,” Alfred repeated and entered the living room, lit pale gold by the dozens of candles. It was exactly as he had left. Elizaveta’s purse still sat fatly in her place, Arthur’s reading glasses in his place. Except that no actual person was there.  
“Where’s everyone else?” Alfred stared.   
Veronica rushed in, covering her mouth. She still didn’t blink.  
“Veronica,” Alfred stared at her seriously, “Do you know what happened?”  
She shook her head.  
“Did you hear anything? You can speak to me.”  
She burst into tears, “No, I don’t know,” she squeaked, “Please don’t blame me, please. I didn’t do anything. Ludwig hates me but I don’t want revenge.” She began to hiccup.  
“Relax,” Alfred rubbed her back, hearing something rustle upstairs, “Let’s stick together and look around, OK? You stay nearby and Ivan, let’s not be stupid.”   
Ivan’s eyebrows elevated, “So you aren’t that dumb and oblivious man I thought you were?”   
Alfred furrowed his eyebrows, picking up an oil lamp. Veronica handed him the matches. He lit the lamp and held it before him. It cast a wavering fan of light before them, touching where the candles couldn’t reach.   
“Did I offend you?” Ivan touched Alfred’s shoulder.  
Jerking away, Alfred grunted, “My brother is sick, of course I don’t want to act stupid anymore.”   
Ivan watched him tread before him, letting the new information drip in.   
Veronica, being a few heads shorter than him, looked up at him. Ivan looked back. Years of silence had taught the girl how to communicate without uttering a word.   
“How old are you?” Ivan asked.  
“Seventeen,”  
“Why are you working here?”   
“Are you coming or not?” Alfred stared at them.  
Veronica quickly went after him. Ivan followed, taking heavy steps.   
“I’m working here because my mother is indebted to them.”   
Ivan narrowed his eyes.  
“Shut the fuck up with this chit-chat.” Alfred barked, “You can ask her later about her life, for now let’s just go and find them, please.”   
Ivan began feeling annoyed, “Alfred, where do you think they could go in the five seconds you were gone? Unless the house swallowed them or somebody kidnapped them with, mind you, not a single trace left, how far could they go?”   
“The house isn’t as simple as you think,” Veronica piped up.   
“The house ain’t simple as you think,” Alfred mimicked rudely.   
Ivan pulled a cigarette from his pocket and found it had turned to mush. “Fuck,” He put it back, finding no trash can.   
“It really is such an ugly baby.”   
Alfred turned to them, “What baby?”  
The voice echoed and grew faint, like whispers uttered by many people in succession.   
“I didn’t say that,” Ivan raised his hands and Veronica shook her head.   
“Such an ugly baby, really. How can you life with it?” The voice bubbled up again. The three stopped and listened, leaning against the wall where it was strongest.   
“I work several hours a week,” another voice, eerily like Kiku’s, came through. But it was more sturdy and did not echo.   
“Oh?” The other voice, similar to the first heard, replied. It sounded like a woman.   
“Yes,” Kiku’s voice continued.   
Veronica pushed open a door and walked in.   
“Oh, how nice.” The woman replied, then in the faint tone, “The baby’s name is Nani, which I’m sure means ugly in another language. Its face appears to be smashed in, an upturned nose and impish eyes. Its fists are horny and waving about right n—”   
The voices stopped and Veronica stepped out, holding a cassette tape. “An audio book. I wonder who turned it on.”   
“What’s the story called, it sounds familiar.” Ivan looked at the tape. The name was in Latin.   
“Exodus. The baby grows up to be the most beautiful thing in the world.”   
“Veronica, you’re not really seventeen, are you?”   
She stared at him and nodded, “No, I’m a prostitute. Bound to silence…”She looked away. Her face was smudged with grease. Her eyes were too far apart and her nose too long.   
“I better clean the dishes or else he will be mad.” Veronica sprinted off before Alfred could rebut.   
“Damn idiot. I told her not to go alone.” Alfred hissed.   
“Let her be, she knows the house better than we do. And maybe they’ll come back there.” Ivan pointed out.  
“What, did they all go to piss at the same time?”   
“Let’s not argue, it will do no good. We should have stayed back there.”  
“Shut up,” Alfred rounded on him.   
“First it makes Ludwig scold a woman, something I never thought he would do. And now it makes you irate?”   
“Strange house.” Alfred raised the lamp and let the light spill onto a canvas framed on the wall. A girl stared back at him, a painting of a girl in a prim dress and a light smile on her face. A tear trailed down her cheek and other tears from past cries flowed at the bottom, making a pool at her feet.   
“Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland?” Ivan suggested, touching the painting. He pulled his fingers away. Wet paint dotted his hand.   
“What the hell? How can is still be wet?” Alfred also touched the painting, above the water. His fingers came off dry. He then tried the water. His fingers were still dry.   
“Maybe it was just an extra layer. They did revamp the house.”  
“Right, yeah…” Alfred continued down the hall, running into a dead end. He sighed, jiggling one of the doors. It was locked. “I don’t like that maid.”   
“Hush, these old walls may have grown ears.”   
“You don’t like her either.”  
“At least I don’t call her berating names like you do.” Ivan stared at him madly.  
“This house is getting to me.”  
“Exactly, none of you would ever do that.”  
“She’ll turn out to be the killer.” Alfred pushed against the other door, pushing it open. A gush of stale air met them, poisoned with traces of sulfur and decay. Alfred pulled his shirt over his nose and Ivan pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, pressing it to his large nose, his eyes watering.   
“I doubt they’re in here. I doubt anyone has been here since the Dark Ages…” Ivan paused, blinking quickly to adjust to the dark.   
“Oh my God,” Alfred gasped, rushing in and ignoring the smells. He picked up the jacket Matthew was wearing, coating in a fine layer of dust.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own Hetalia  
> Please do not shout at me for certain elements until you find out the reason for them in later chapters. Thank you!


	3. Different

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is something ever so slightly... Off.

“Alfred, get up,” Ivan nudged him with his toe.   
Alfred looked at him, his lip trembling and his face pale, Matthew’s jacket still in his grip. Cold sweat tricked down Alfred’s chiseled features.  
“My God, Al, there isn’t any blood, you don’t need to overreact until you find his body, if it even is dead.” Ivan grabbed Alfred under the armpits and pulled him up. Alfred woozily stood, clutching his stomach with one hand and with the other covering his mouth.  
“That’s not it, Ivan, I’m not feeling too hot…” Alfred moaned, feeling nausea climb up his throat.   
“Al…?” Ivan gasped as Alfred dropped back to his knees, covering his mouth and dark, black liquids pouring out of his mouth. He vomited all his stomach contents into the waste bin, trembling. Ivan, worried now, rushed into the bathroom not far down the hallway. He dug around for a small towel and turned on the sink. The bathroom was cramped, even for Ivan. The toilet and sink were squished up next to each other. The water that flowed was stained red with rust and Ivan waited for it to wash away. Clear water began to gush out and Ivan wetted the towel. There was no mirror in front of the sink, only a clear wall with white spots and the faint outline of a rectangle. Ivan shut of the faucet, which gurgled and groaned, and returned to the room to find Alfred still hunched over the bin, shaking visibly and keeping his eyes shut tight.  
Ivan bent to his knees and dabbed Alfred’s chin and face clean. He folded the towel over to a clean side and placed it against Alfred’s burning forehead.   
“Have you felt this sick before?” Ivan asked. He peered at Alfred. The oil lamp flickered, casting a thin light over Alfred.  
“No,” Alfred said.   
“You need to lie down.”   
“I know.”  
“Then lie down, I’ll get a pillow…”  
“No, they won’t do good.”   
Alfred shifted towards Ivan and laid his head against Ivan’s lap. Ivan frowned, watching the strong man collapse into humanly needs he before thought were needless.   
“Only for a little bit,” Alfred mumbled, “then we have to find Matty…”   
Ivan ran his hand soothingly down Alfred’s back, having a tender spot for the sick.   
“Did you know, Ivan,” Alfred said morosely, “Matthew and I are broke. We have no more money. Matty’s too sick to work and I have to run two jobs. I wanted to come because it would be a getaway and…”  
“And?” Ivan looked down, finding Alfred closing his eyes.  
“Al, you shouldn’t sleep too much, we still have to find them.”   
“Yeah, yeah I know.” Alfred raised himself off Ivan’s lap, his face beginning to show more color. “Sorry for lying down on you.”   
“It’s fine.” Ivan stood, helping Alfred stand. He picked up the oil lamp, “Do you think you can go on?”   
“I hope so.” Alfred offered a weak smile. He walked with a slouch, trailing closely after Ivan, until his head cleared and the knot in his stomach loosened.   
They passed each locked door that wouldn’t open despite constant pestering. They checked the doors that were open and saw nothing but boxes or empty rooms.   
The raining lessened slowly, altogether ceasing by the time Ivan and Alfred (now in a good state of being) reached the other side of the building. Clouds began to part and moonlight needled into the house, illuminating it sufficiently enough for Ivan to lowered the oil lamp. They searched for an hour on, finding only dusty rooms and bad smells.   
Finally they traversed their own rooms and still found not the slightest trace of the others.   
Alfred looked through Ivan’s room, a faint smell of cigarettes and the familiar smell of Ivan lingered alone. “Let’s go back to the living room,” Ivan sighed. Alfred nodded wordlessly.  
They travelled back downstairs. Ivan placed the lamp back on the table. The living room was still illuminated with the candles, and laughter.  
Ivan and Alfred stopped dead at the corner, sure that the laughter and voices were only make-believe by fatigued minds.   
“Ivan…” Alfred muttered and the other bit his lip.   
They turned into the living room. Everyone was back in place. Elizaveta sat by her chubby purse, her legs tucked under her. Arthur had his reading glasses on his lap. Matthew still lacked his jacket. Yet, everything was slightly off about all of them. Elizaveta’s dress was a darker shade than it was previously. Arthur’s feet were bare, and Matthew’s t-shirt said: REALISM in bold white letters.  
“Where were you guys?” Alfred said, stepping into their circle. The laughter stopped abruptly and the group turned to look at them, mouths slack and confusion swirling in their eyes.  
“We were right here, you left just a minute ago.” Arthur said, rolling his eyes, suspecting some sort of joke.  
“Al, I know your memory isn’t that bad,” Matthew smiled.  
Alfred rushed over by Matthew, feeling his brother’s forehead. “Are you okay? Not dizzy anymore?”   
“When was I dizzy…?”   
Ivan followed close behind him, sitting down by Alfred and nodding with the others, as if nothing had happened. Alfred gave him a bewildered look.  
“How the hell can you act so nonchalant?”   
“Just play along,” Ivan said through the corner of his mouth just below a whisper, “Let’s not lose our heads just yet.”   
Alfred nodded and burst out laughing, “Tricked you guys! Man you shoulda seen your faces.”   
They continued talking and sharing stories. Elizaveta picked up her purple bag and dug up her cellphone, showing Yao beside her some pretty photos she had taken. Yao nodded, looking them over.   
Ivan stood, patting his pocket then remembering the soiled remains of the cigarette.   
“Where are you doing, Ivan?” Kiku asked.  
“To smoke,” Ivan grunted.  
“Since when do you smoke?” Arthur asked, astonished.   
Ivan paused, feeling a sour taste in his mouth. He looked around the faces. “I was kidding, obviously. Where’s Veronica?”   
“You mean Valerie?” Ludwig asked.  
“Y-yes…”   
“Valerie!” Ludwig called, smiling.  
A woman trotted out, bearing absolutely no resemblance to Veronica. She was tall, where Veronica wasn’t, her body was primped perfect by dozens of surgeries, her lips painted a deep rouge and her eyes half-shut. She wore a thin veil of black over her body, golden lingerie visible beneath.   
“I asked for the maid,” Ivan’s eyes widened.  
Valerie walked forward, trailing her hand down Ivan’s chest. Ivan flinched away and Alfred shot up, walking up to Ivan.  
“What maid? This is some elaborate joke,” Ludwig laughed, “Valerie’s a hooker we got for the party.” She licked her lips, “She was Gilbert’s fiancée,”   
“Where’s Gilbert?” Alfred asked, noticing the other striking difference. He began feeling extremely uncomfortable.   
“Dead as dirt.”   
“Ivan let’s go, GO GO GO GO FUCKING GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE.” Alfred hollered, grabbing Ivan and tearing him out of the prostitute’s hands.   
Alfred ran up the dark stair case and shut the door on himself and Ivan. When he calmed down, he smelled a faint perfume and cologne. Arthur and Elizaveta’s room.   
“What the hell just went on there?” Ivan asked, his voice quaking in an attempt to hold his temper.  
“I have no idea but it irks me and it’s just awful.” Alfred slumped against the wall, “I swear to God, if they were playing a prank on us just then I will rip someone’s eyes out.”   
“No need for violence.”  
Alfred shot him a murderous glance.  
When Alfred made no comment, Ivan began pacing. “So what do we know? Let’s think through this before we hurt anybody. A) It could be a ruse to scare us, if so then they are amazing actors, get an Oscar, yay. B) Something is seriously wrong with the house, C) Something is wrong with us.”   
“I think A or C are our best bets.” Alfred cut in.  
“Let me finish. It could be D) Veronica set us up, or E) we’re not real, or they aren’t, or nothing is.”  
“Philosophy, eh?” Alfred chuckled bitterly, “But as I said, A, C, or D. Simply because I don’t want to be in a haunted house and I honestly don’t want to tamper with metaphysics.”   
“I was only pointing it out.”   
Alfred raised his hands, “I know, I know. Besides, if I woke up knowing this life was a lie, then it might mean I’m not in poverty and Matthew is healthy.”  
“If I woke up maybe I wouldn’t be a smoker.”  
“Doesn’t sound too bad, now…”  
“No, not at all.”   
“I wonder if death is like that. You wake up at another point in your life and have another go.”  
“Maybe… Oh wait, hold up.” Ivan sat beside Alfred, leaning against the door, “Veronica in the other world, or last time we spoke, said she was a prostitute.”   
“Yup, there were just little differences back there. Matthew isn’t sick, Elizaveta’s purse and dress…”   
“Did you also happen to notice how everyone looked at us? Blank eyes. Yes, pupils. But, the way they stared blankly, not comprehending. Even when they laughed and spoke their eyes never changed.”   
Alfred stared at him, his lips parted.   
Thump… Thump… Thump…  
The two stared at each other in horror.   
Thump…  
Someone appeared to be walking outside the door. Ivan froze up with terror and Alfred silently searched around him for something—anything—to be a weapon; a pen, a book… An axe or hammer would be extremely handy that moment.  
…Thump…  
The steps appeared to be slower, perhaps distant from the door, quiet.   
Ivan balled his hands into fists.   
…Thump…  
….thump…  
….  
…  
…thump…  
Thump…thump…  
Thump thump THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP  
Alfred and Ivan shot to their feet as the doorknob jiggled frantically, fists beat against the door. Garbled language, oddly like Italian, shrieked through. Alfred stepped back and slammed his fist into the mirror, watching it shatter in slow-motion. Cranks branched off from where Alfred’s fist met. Then crackles. Then the small silver fragments fell down. Alfred found the largest piece and gripped it, shaking off the tiny pieces off his hair. Blood dribbled off Alfred’s knuckles. Ivan watched and wished he had some sort of weapon, though he wouldn’t go to such extremes as Alfred.  
The banging lessened and then ceased, replaced be incessant sobs.   
“Could be a trap,” Alfred whispered.  
“Alfred…” A voice peeped up, muffled by the crying.  
“Shit,” Ivan shook his head and grabbed the door handle.  
“Ivan,”   
“It’s Feli.”   
“No it…” is? Isn’t? Alfred doubted his instincts.  
Ivan pulled open the door. Feliciano was on his knees in front of the door, his face muddy and coated in tear stains.   
“What happened?” Alfred pulled Feliciano inside, peering down the halls, and then shutting the door on lock and key.   
Feliciano sniffed and wiped his nose, “I’m so happy to see you. I couldn’t find anyone else—”  
“What color is Elizaveta’s purse?” Ivan sliced in.  
“Red.”   
Alfred nodded and picked up a jug by the window sill, filled with fresh water. Gilbert had told them that there were no usable sinks inside some rooms and so they had to use the jugs provided. Alfred searched around and found a velvet suitcase, probably Elizaveta’s. He felt little shame in picking through her clothing, finding a blouse and wetting it. He used it to wipe Feliciano’s face.  
“Why are you stealing Elizaveta’s things?”   
“The sheets here are soiled and would make the problem worse. I bet they haven’t been washed since 1801. Besides, Eliza can wash them up later. I didn’t sniff her underwear if that’s what you’re worried about.” Alfred saw, thankfully, no cuts or bruises on Feliciano’s face. “So tell me what happened. How come when we went down we couldn’t find you?”   
“I don’t really know,” Feliciano whimpered, looking at Ivan for a consolation but found none, “When you left to find Ivan, Ludwig offered to give a tour. I told him no because then they wouldn’t find us, but Ludwig said the mystery would be better, leave everything where it is.   
“So he took them into the basement but I stayed, then I heard you scream so I got worried. I went to Ludwig but the basement had no lights on and didn’t appear to have been touched. I thought, hey they changed their minds! And went away, but that’s not the case. Maybe they went down and…”  
“Get on with it,” Ivan said impatiently.  
“Well, I went down,” Feliciano continued, “And I didn’t find them, I guessed they had left. It’s so big down there. I saw someone run and scream and I swear it was Lovino. I ran after him and he was gone, even though he was running through a dead end.”  
Silence dropped heavily. Alfred wiped his knuckles, regretting to have broken the mirror and knowing some sort of bad luck would happen, if it hadn’t started already. He placed the mirror shard on the dresser and searched around for some sort of weapon for them to use.   
“Maybe,” Ivan said, “Maybe the house changes. Maybe this is the House of Infinity, everything continues to loop in new circumstances. Maybe where Lovino was going there wasn’t a wall.”   
“I think it was just a hallucination from terror,” Feliciano confessed.  
Alfred dug through the wardrobe, finding nothing.   
“Let’s head out and find some sort of weapons to use,” Alfred said, disgruntled.  
“I don’t want to leave.” Feliciano buried his face in his hands.  
“Come on, we can’t stay in here forever.”  
Ivan stood, coaxing Feliciano to follow. The timidly entered the hallway, shifted slightly from the last time they had seen in. The doors seemed an inch off. A cold draft roamed close to the ground.   
Feliciano shivered, “Did someone open a door?”  
“It’s warm outside,” Ivan said, staring at the floor. “The cold is from inside.”   
Alfred gnawed his lip in frustration, “Did you hear that?”


	4. Deadly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this EXPLICIT chapter, the trio dig deeper into the house, and also into their own psyche, which may not be as cleaned as they first had imagined.

"Hear what?" Feliciano's eyes widened.

Alfred hushed them. They held their breath and then heard it. It was a mumbling.

"It's coming from there." Ivan whispered, pointing down the hall.

It sounded like a muffled prayer. Feliciano crept forwards, catching the familiar raspy nature and stifled syllables. Feliciano rapped his knuckles against the door where it was strongest from. The sound stopped, briefly, then continued in a lucid flow. Feliciano pushed the unlocked door open and stopped in the hallway. He blinked, trying to decipher the pale shapes in the room. “Gilbert?” He called. A pair of glowing red eyes snapped at him, blinking in confusion and trying to hide back tears. “Gil…” Feliciano frowned in pity, entering the room. Alfred and Ivan lingered by the door. Gilbert’s naked body lay on the bed, each bone visible and pale scars lined his arms and legs. His mouth was open, his teeth clean and white. One of his bony hands rested on a woman’s breast. She was pinned beneath him, dressed in a thin black dress. Her eyeliner caused her blue eyes to stand out, they held no fear in them, but rather eyed the three at the door curiously. Gilbert removed his hand, trailing his fingers down her body and resting his fingers between her thighs. Her short brown hair splayed around her head.

“Gil?” Ivan asked suspiciously. “Who is she and why are you with her?”

Gilbert flashed a smile and trailed his fingers back up, flicking off buttons and exposing her chest. He pinched an exposed nipple and she arched her back. “Go, go on now…” Gilbert laughed horribly, a crooked, bent up sound that trembling like the faulty waves of a broken radio. A dark liquid slowly seeped from the floorboards, bubbling up and enveloping Gilbert and the woman.

Feliciano stepped back. He tore her legs apart and leaned down. Ivan grabbed Feliciano’s shoulder and flung him away from the doorframe, slamming the door.

“What was Gilbert doing?” Feliciano’s lip trembled.

“Do you seriously not know?” Alfred deadpanned.

“I’ve never seen him act like that.” Feliciano said.

“That wasn’t Gilbert,” Ivan shook his head, “His teeth were too clean… Let’s inspect the other doors. I have a really bad feeling about this.”

Ivan pushed open the next door, Alfred looked up from his table, pale eyes looking at the Alfred at the door. The real Alfred hid behind Ivan, watching the other him in the room.

The stranger in the room sat bare in front of a table, his legs spread and food piled on the table. Breads, pastas, chocolates, smoked ham, strips of meat, omelets, and tall jugs of the same dark liquid that bubbled in Gilbert’s room. The stranger devoured the food, each bite causing his stomach to swell and swell. His teeth, not sharp, but oddly shaped and layered, smirked at the three by the door.

“Get out,” he said, his voice also odd, not quite like Alfred. It was like someone had recorded his voice and stitched words together. “Get out. Get Out. Get Out.”

Alfred leaned forwards and slammed the door on his reflection, shivering. A loud ripping sound came from the door followed by a desperate whimper. Alfred eyed Feliciano and Ivan, motioning them to move on. The other five doors in the hallway were empty, vacant of anything but a thin layer of dust and a clutter of furniture.

They went downstairs, meeting no one, real or otherwise. There was no sign of Veronica in the kitchen or living room.

“Let’s head there.” Alfred said, pointing the hallway below the one their previously traversed. They timidly walked up to it. Ivan pressed a light switch on and a row of white lights flickered on, illuminating a seemingly endless hall, so long that the end was dark and the opposite wall was nowhere in sight. The three pushed on. Feliciano reached for the first door, pressing his ear to the chilled wood. He heard a faint scratching sound. He looked back at Alfred and Ivan, looking at him expectantly. Feliciano smiled, gathering up courage and pushing the door open.

A box. There was a single, small box sitting in the middle of the square room. When Feliciano entered the room, he felt trapped, as though a clear membrane had formed around his body, moving with him and yet weighing his steps down. The door shut behind him and he jumped.

“So, I suppose you’re wondering why you’re here?” A voice echoed off the walls in the room next door. Feliciano heard Alfred mumble a confirmation. He leaned against the wall, trying to pick out the words he could hear and interpret. Feliciano heard Ivan ask why the first speaker was in such a condition, “Why, I have a couple screws loose,” then a warm chuckle, followed by a gag.

Feliciano ran his fingers down the walls, trying to find a crack or crevice he could peer into.

“Arthur,” he heard Alfred say, “Arthur what exactly happened to you?”

Feliciano couldn’t find an opening. “Alfred!” He called, but his voice seemed to never exit his mouth. It caught in a fold of time. “Alfred!” Feliciano tried again, pushing his fingers into a small dent and catching a small light. He peered through it, trying to see. But there was no one in the other room.

Arthur’s voice echoed vaguely, “Nothing happened; time was and is and always will be!”

Feliciano pulled away from the hole, his eyes attracted to the dumpy box in the corner. A faint smear was on the bruised corners. Feliciano bent down and picked it up, examining its weight. He pulled open the top, perhaps it held the answers. Instead, in reality, it had a withered flower with a drawing of a heart. A tragic love story hidden away in a box.

Feliciano didn’t like it and set it away, exiting the room. He couldn’t find Alfred or Ivan and instantly regretted not having kept up with them.

He wandered the hallways, feeling sick. He stopped dead at the end of the hall, finding Lovino by the table, covering his face and curled up in the corner. “Brother?” Feliciano grasped, touching his brother’s shoulder. He recoiled and faced his brother. His eyes were also disconnected from reality, there but staring slightly away, at a different layer of reality. Lovino looked around, rubbing where Feliciano had touched. Lovino furrowed his eyebrows.

“Must have been my imagination,” Lovino muttered, looking away. “God where the fuck are you, Antonio? This is creepy…”

Feliciano stepped back, tears filling his eyes. He could see his brother, but his brother couldn’t see him back. He touched Lovino again and Lovino recoiled, closing his eyes and pressing his hands to his ears. He rocked back and forth, “Go away, please, I don’t mean to do anything bad please…” Feliciano remained watching him, unable to move away. Lovino looked up, behind Feliciano, and he smiled. His lips then shot to a look of horror. He squished himself further into the wall. “Please don’t! Please no, no…”

Feliciano stepped to the side, watching a maddened figure, undistinguishable due to disguise, sweep over Lovino, bringing his closed fist against Lovino’s temple. He brought down his fist, reaching into his back pocket for a knife. Feliciano leaped between Lovino and the man, wrestling with the fists and holding them back. Lovino had resigned himself to death, his nose trickling a thin stream of blood. Feliciano grabbed the other hand, which gripped the knife. He pushed against him, crying out in fury, shoving his feet into the stranger’s stomach. Feliciano managed to pull out the knife and shove the attacker away. Frightened eyes searched for the defender and found nothing. He ran away. Feliciano, sat up and slipped on Lovino’s jacket. He fell back, landing on Lovino’s back and his hand following, the knife still in it. The blade pierced Lovino’s forehead, going into his brain.

Feliciano whipped around in horror. The eyes quickly losing life as they searched for the one who delivered the final blow.

“Lovi, no, Lovi, all I wanted to do was help… Oh my God, I killed you. I…”

Lovino mouthed something Feliciano couldn’t make out, then dropped his head, blank eyes still staring forwards.

Feliciano stumbled back, running down the halls and ripping open a door. He toppled in, pulling the door shut behind him. It slammed, unsettling papers strewn across the floor.

A French glass door was at the other end. Feliciano blindly floundered towards it, pulling it open. He rushed into the forest, ripping across a dirt road. Hot pain seared through his mind. He tripped on a rock and closed his eyes, hardly noticing strong arms picking him up. 


End file.
